


the self imposed exile of Michael Hanlon

by ebedoesit



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: 27 year gap, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Isolation, Loneliness, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:34:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27287995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ebedoesit/pseuds/ebedoesit
Summary: growing up and graduating is hard enough but when your friends forget you when they leave your hometown and you're left alone, well, that's even harder. looking at the struggles within Mike's self imposed exile to Derry, Maine.the twenty-seven year gap wasn't easy for anyone, especially Mike.
Relationships: Mike Hanlon & Richie Tozier, The Losers Club/The Losers Club (IT)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	the self imposed exile of Michael Hanlon

**Author's Note:**

> hey folks,  
> this is just something I threw together because I feel so sad whenever I think of Mike alone and isolated in Derry. let me know your thoughts and enjoy :)

The year is 1994, it’s summer time and Mike Hanlon has just graduated from high school with what’s left of his childhood friends.

  
At the start of their freshman year of high school, Bev moved in with her Aunt Dottie and promised to write and call whenever she could. She promised to write a letter as soon as she arrived so they had her new address, but that was the last time they had heard from her. For months the boys would run outside and check their mailboxes to see if Bev had sent them a letter until one day they just stopped checking, either because they forgot that they needed to check or because they had lost hope that she would ever write.

  
Sophomore year of high school, Eddie moved away because his mother had decided that the medical professionals in Derry were not experienced or knowledgeable enough to best help her son. Eddie had promised that he was going to write and it wouldn’t even be like he was gone. On Eddie’s last night in Derry they laid on the grass and watched the stars, wide eyed. They didn’t sleep that night, instead they talked about their futures, hopes, and dreams.

  
As the sun started to peek over the horizon and painted the sky a soft pink and orange, Richie had said “Eddie, you pinky promise to write, right? You’re not going to pull a Bev and just completely forget about us?”. The words had burst out of his mouth like they had been locked behind his lips for a long time, impatient to get out. After he had said it he had looked away, almost like he was ashamed for how desperate he sounded.

  
Eddie had reassured them all that of course he was going to write, “You guys are like my only friends, plus you have to fill me in on everything going on in Derry while I’m gone!”

The letters that Eddie had so painstakingly promised the group had never arrived. They had made theories about why Eddie wasn’t writing, maybe his Mom locked him in his room like she had done so frequently in Derry. Or Eddie had made new, cooler friends and he forgot about them like Bev did. Or maybe Eddie was in trouble or something was wrong. Whatever the answer was didn’t even matter after a certain point because Eddie never wrote.

  
By the end of the summer of 1994, Ben, Bill, and Stan all were packing and getting ready to leave for college. Richie had decided to take a gap year with Mike, still unsure of what he wanted to do and not wanting to be too hasty with his decision. Mike, on the other hand, made a conscious choice to stay behind in Derry, worrying that there may be a reason for why his other two friends never reached out after leaving. He worried that if he left, Richie might be left alone in the small town. Mike thought that would be too heavy of a burden for him to place on his friend. Instead he decided to stay under the guise he needed to help with the farm and wanted to go to college at some point, but just not this year.

Ben, Bill, and Stan provided both Richie and Mike with the addresses of each of their schools and their dorm room numbers, determined to stay connected. When they talked about it, Bill had spoken up and said, “T-That way, if we don’t write, you guys can rem-remind us."

  
Mike and Richie stood side by side as they watched, one by one, as their friends left town with their parents' cars packed to the brim. Mike felt alone, isolated, and in a way almost as though he was being exiled from everything he once knew. He was pulled out his wallowing by Richie grabbing his hand and giving him a soft smile, eyes downcast and looking as though tears were barely being held at bay. They were in it together.

  
For now at least.

  
And they did try to get in contact with their friends. Richie and Mike wrote each of the boys probably a dozen letters each and had never received a response back. The letters ranged from a “hey did you guys forget about us?” to a desperate, pleading “please answer so I know you’re OK”. Neither seemed to do the trick, as their mailboxes remained empty.

  
Life was lonely with just the two of them but they tried to make the best of it with what they had. Richie helped Mike on the farm whenever he could, Mike worked on his street fighter skills with Richie, the boys had sleepovers and dinner frequently. They held hands often and would sleep next to each other in bed when they could. To go from having a group of people in his life that were seemingly almost always touching in one way or another to only having Richie to poke and prod, made Mike’s heart ache with sorrow.

Sometimes, during the summer, they would lay out on grass on the farm and look to the stars like they did the night before Eddie left and recount memories of the others. They would make up stories of what they thought the others were doing now and ask questions to each other to help fill in the blanks. What was the rest of high school like for Eddie? What kind of trouble had Bev gotten into?

  
Most nights ended before dawn with Richie or Mike crying into the other’s arms, heaving with tears and snot. Twin hearts heavy with a grief they didn’t understand.

Richie spoke a lot that summer of going to college and figuring himself out, leaving this shitty town. Making it big maybe. Each time he brought it up, his voice was tinged with guilt. He would suggest Mike leave with him, “Who cares about Derry anyway, man? This place has been horrible to us!” and every time Mike would shake his head, make an excuse, and tell Richie if he wanted to go he could. Mike would be fine.

  
By the end of the summer of 1995, Richie had decided that he knew what he was going to do with his life and had been accepted to the same college as Stan. It went unspoken between Richie and Mike that the very reason that Richie chose to go to Stan’s college was in the vain hope of finding him and reconnecting. During one of the nights where they laid out in the grass on the farm, they spoke of going on a road trip to find all of their friends. Just pack up Mike’s old pick up truck and leave. Start going from college to college and then start looking up all of the Kaspbraks and Marshs they could find in the phonebook.

  
When Mike and Richie said goodbye, they held each other tight, both men trying not to weep. Part of Richie held a very real fear in his heavy heart that he might be making a choice which resulted in Mike being alone for a very long time. But part of Richie was hopeful. Hopeful to leave Derry, a place which held just as many bad memories as there were good. Hopeful to find Stan and the others and find out what happened. He felt a pit in his stomach as he turned the key to drive away and watched Mike’s form fade in his rearview mirror.

Richie never called. Never emailed. Never wrote. Never anything.

  
And then, Mike was alone. For a very long time.

Mike would journal, write, research, and sometimes pray when things got hard. Praying was usually a last resort, because what God that existed would have allowed for this to happen? Mike found it hard not to be bitter. Of course things were going to get hard, being one of the only black people in Derry was hard enough growing up and was almost harder as an adult. When Mike was younger, he had six people around him who would distract him from the probing, glaring eyes of adults who cared only about the color of his skin and not the strength of the friendships being forged. Now, he was alone.

  
Most of Mike’s free time was spent interviewing townsfolk about Pennywise, trying to figure out if they had actually defeated the clown for good. He knew that he had to be the one to call the others back. He wrote down the things that he could remember from when the town had been terrorized in 1989 so he could identify the signs of Its return. He wrestled with the idea that if, or when It returned, that he would not be able to save the kids of Derry on his own. This was something that kept him up at night, tossing and turning, thinking about the kids at the library, or in the grocery store, or who raced their bikes down his street could be put through the same torture he had and there was little he could do on his own to stop it from happening. After all the only signs he had written down were if the kids started to go missing at an alarming rate. He wasn’t sure what else he would see in the meantime that would tell him of Pennywise’s return before that.

  
Outside of what was an almost obsessive search for information, Mike worked on tracking down his friends, trying to figure out the best way to contact them if the clown returned. It was a lot of trial and error, only made harder by the years that separated them.

  
The first time Mike was successful and he heard Bill’s voice for the first time in years, his heart dropped to his stomach and he couldn’t bring himself to respond, instead choosing to hang up with shaky hands and tears in his eyes.

  
The second time he called Bill, he was braver. He reminded Bill of who he was and they talked for hours, Mike was careful to never bring up Pennywise as he was worried that it would sour the relationship that he was working so hard on rebuilding after years of radio silence. A deep part of Mike worried that Pennywise was something that he had made up on his own, maybe their shared experience that summer was just imaginary after all?

  
It had taken Bill a minute to remember who Mike was but after that it was like picking up like no time had passed. They had spoken about Bill’s new book he was working on, how Mike was managing the farm, and Mike had tried to ask about their other friends, but Bill hadn’t kept up with any of the others.

  
They exchanged contact information and talked about doing a weekly call that never happened. Mike reached out several times and each time it went the same. A gentle, “Who? Oh Mike...Mike Hanlon? It’s so crazy to hear from you! I haven’t thought about you in….years. Well what’s up? How is everything going?” It was like as soon as the phone call ended, Bill’s memories were erased.

  
Mike could only bring himself to call Bill and the others every six months or so to make sure he had the correct phone number. Each time, it was more devastating to hear their voices and what they were doing with their lives outside of Derry. Without each other by their side. Without Mike.

  
It wasn’t until Mike was in Derry for about five years on his own that he started to think about leaving.

  
When he wasn’t hunting down information about Pennywise, breaking his heart by talking to his friends, or manning Derry’s public library, he was researching places that he would go when he knew for sure that his oath from that summer was fulfilled. He knew from his research that traditionally, a big event would happen in Derry that would result in a large amount of death about every twenty-seven years. He knew if they got past the twenty-seven year mark without a sign of Pennywise that he could leave Derry with his bag packed and his life savings and go wherever he wanted.

  
He had travel pamphlets for everywhere he wanted to go. If someone were to walk into his bedroom they would find a desk, a scuffed dresser, a neatly made bed, and two cork boards. One covered in information about the clown and Derry. And the other, covered in travel catalogues, maps with pins marking the “perfect road trip” that Mike spent a good portion of his time creating, and a list of top ten places that Mike hoped to go before he died.

  
He also had a list of foods he would love to try when he is able to go to a restaurant that’s different from the four sit down restaurants they have in Derry.

  
When days got hard, he would find himself sitting in front of that corkboard and looking at the sand beaches, forests, coast lines, and cities where he longed to go with tears running down his cheeks. To a point it brought him hope, but it was also a reminder of what he’s already lost. Breathing slowly, steadily as he attempted to gain control over his emotions until he found he couldn’t regain any semblance of control and ended up being a sobbing mess. His body slumped over his desk, gasping for breath, feeling as though there was no air left in the room. Like he was drowning without water.

  
He eventually would move from the desk to his bed, sitting up with his knees to his chest, arms wrapped around his legs to pull himself even closer. He wanted to leave, not just wanted, he _needed_ to leave. He wasn’t sure how much longer he was going to be able to do this.

  
This loneliness weighed heavily on his mind, body, soul, heart, anything that one could think of. The weight of the sadness he felt could only be compared to the depth and pressure that one would feel at the bottom of the Marianas trench. It dug deep in his soul and felt neverending.

  
Mike couldn’t think of the last time he had touched another person.

  
And not just in a way that one touches the cashier when they give you change, but actually touched someone. Actually was held in someone’s arms, held hands with someone, felt someone press into his back while he rode his bike, wrestled with friends, or even just the feeling of someone sitting next to him on the couch watching TV.

  
If Mike thought too hard about all of these things he would surely break down again.

  
He knew this from experience.

Sometimes on bad days that would be all he would do. Sit in his bed, knees tucked to his chest and cry, thinking of what he had lost and will lose in Derry. It would end there, the tears would dry up, he would get a headache from crying so hard, he would drink some water, and move on.

  
Not all days would end like that.

  
Some days would end with Mike, sitting in his car, hands clutching the steering wheel with a packed bag thrown haphazardly in his back seat. Key in the ignition, just waiting to be turned. Maps in the passenger seat, waiting for Mike to pick a place to go.

  
Some days Mike would cry in the car as he attempted to turn the key, but stopped himself from going any further, unable to take the car out of park.

  
Some days Mike would make it down the road from his house, then stop at a stop light and see the kids in his neighborhood play outside on their bikes. The only thought held in his brain as soon as he saw them would be that without him, they would likely die if Pennywise were to return. Some sick part of his brain wondered how Pennywise would scare them if he left. Would these kids figure it out? Band together? Or would they die like the rest?

  
Some days, Mike made it just outside of Derry, with the town still in his rearview mirror. He would start to smile in almost a manic, crazed way as he yelled to himself that “I can do this! Screw Derry! What has Derry ever done for you? Nothing!” and eventually he would stop, turn around and go home after the adrenaline of the thought of leaving wore off.

  
The worst days and best days were after his check in calls. He would find himself indulging in these calls, staying on the phone for hours and just enjoying hearing their voice. Every time Richie would apologize for leaving him alone, his voice thick with tears. Bev’s voice wrought with guilt when apologizing for never writing. There were times where Mike gently urged them to get the help they needed whether it be rehab, therapy, or a domestic violence advocate. He knew that they would forget once the call ended, but some small, frail part of himself hoped that they would heed his advice, regardless of whether or not they knew it was from him.

  
After every call he would feel better than he had in years, hopeful and willing to put in the work. Rejuvenated from the energy of speaking with someone who understood him. Truly understood him, in the way that a friend who helped you murder an alien space clown could.

  
And then the days after the calls he would often drift into his bad days. Where it was easy to spiral in his loneliness, in this stupid self imposed exile he had placed on himself. It could have been any of them that stayed behind but Mike chose this for himself. It felt like punishment, for what he was unsure. Some days he felt like it was something he deserved.  
Part of Mike hoped for the early return of Pennywise so this prison he had created for himself could open. So he wouldn’t be drowning anymore.

  
He often found himself laying on his back in bed, looking up at the ceiling and murmuring, “I guess it’s only up from here”.

  
In his heart he believed that things would eventually get better, just not tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!! if you want to check out my twitter (where i mainly ramble about headcanons) my handle is @ebedoesit
> 
> ty to kaitlin for reading it over and making sure it all made sense :)


End file.
